Poetry is not an easy task. It is like learning to beat the storm when you are stuck in its eye.

“And one night
When he and she were fast asleep
Their hearts armed with love
Gathered upon a pact to keep
Their bet on who loved harder
His heart talked till tire
Hers was a silent desire
Slowly the return to the start
When she was all fire
And he, only a silent desire
On the way back, the two humbled hearts
Forgot the way
And now
Hers beats in him
and his inside her.”

There is a girl who gives me poems
In the night or early morning
I hear her silent whisper
Calling my soul away from
The night to the lovely dawn

The girl she gives me my poems
She is a distant dream
No phrases can match her
No metaphors or similes
Let her float in the skies
For another eerie night
The girl with the words of my poems
Her magic is violent
A collision of galaxies
Like my thoughts are dust
Her breath is the light in stars
The poet in me is free as
Her touch varies in degrees
The girl like the words of my poems
She left me no rule to follow
Making and unmaking me again
A silent trail of woven words
Like petals strewn on the roads
To the palace where she rests
A path the poet must take always She is the girl of my poems.

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Whispers of Immortality is the essence of poetry writing. It is the freedom to make mistakes, experience life and to walk one's own path.
Robert Frost put it aptly about poetry, “A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.”